“We did an evil deed yesterday, sir,” Jovinus said, ignoring the comment about Lucius. “The three of us have been veterans long enough to know that.”
Vitalis looked at him irritably. “You have done the bidding of the proconsul, and the bidding of Rome. You need know nothing more.”
“There will be a reckoning, sir,” Jovinus said warily.
“It’s not yours to wonder of the reckoning, Jovinus.” The centurion snapped, but then seemed to reconsider his words. He smiled and slapped the signifer on the shoulder. “For Jupiter’s sake, man, you know how they are. The only good Belgae’s a dead one. You are a soldier, and you carried out your orders. Nothing more.”
“There was little soldiering in what we did,” Lucius said, “pardon my saying so, sir.”
“No, I do not pardon it, Lucius!” Vitalis snapped. “You will carry this too far!”
“I saw those babies scream, sir,” Jovinus said, gazing into the rippling pond. “Saw those Gaul bastards bash their little skulls against the wall. Saw some of our boys were doing it, too, sir. Some laughing, some enjoying it. I’ll admit I slit the throat of many a Belgic whore, but killing babies – I’ll never do that.”
Vitalis sighed, glancing around to see if the other soldiers were eavesdropping.
“It was strange,” Jovinus continued, chuckling, “but I kept seeing the face of my little boy back home. He’d be in his fourth year now. About the same age as that Belgic lad Tribune Piso trampled into mush under his horse’s hoofs yesterday.”
“There is a reason that a soldier should not marry,” Vitalis said coldly. “So that he may be stalwart, and fully ready in body and mind to answer the call of the Senate and people of – “
“Begging your pardon, sir,” Lucius interrupted. “But how many did you kill yesterday?”
“Some two dozen, I should think. Does it matter?”
“Maybe if you’re one of the two dozen.”
Vitalis cast a dubious glance at Lucius. “You had best mind yourself, Lucius. The tribune will not overlook another infraction, nor can I. I tell you this, not as your centurion, but as your friend.”
Then, shaking his head in disappointment, Vitalis moved along, leaving Lucius and Jovinus staring blankly after him.
“He’s a cold bastard, that one,” Jovinus said, rubbing his own helmet furiously with an oil cloth to restore the long-faded shine. “Of course, what can you expect under the eyes of the tribune?” Jovinus gestured to a pair of scarlet-cloaked nobles lounging astride their mounts near the fort’s gate.
Lucius glanced at the two young officers. Both looked fairly out of place in their breastplate armor and bronze-plated greaves that only those of their station in life could afford. In the short time since the two had joined the legion, Lucius had never known the young Tribune Piso – or his adjutant, the equally young Amelius – to concern themselves much with proper military deportment. Even now, the two aristocratic youths were red-faced with laughter over some internal jest. Neither of them could have been a day beyond twenty-five years of age, and both had the soft, unblemished faces of men new to campaign life. They looked as though they had stepped into Gaul fresh from the forum in Rome, and in many ways they had. They were new arrivals, having been in Gaul only a little more than a month. Even their hair was still curled in the latest fashion of the great city. Though Piso was the tribune, and superior by rank to Amelius, the two were seldom seen apart. Even less frequently were they seen taking any of their responsibilities earnestly. They seemed to be in a perpetual state of hysteria, laughing obnoxiously over private jests. Sometimes the source of their mirth was not so elusive, as when they pointed out an awkward gait or physical attribute of a slave or legionary. Such behavior from the aristocratic youths of Rome was certainly not unknown to the men of the legions. Normally, such youths would have been ignored as harmless, silver-spooned fools. But fortune had played a devilish trick on the men of the two cohorts of the Seventh Legion that now bedded down for the night deep within enemy country. Tribune Piso, green and hardly a month under arms, had been appointed by the legate of the Seventh as the commander of the expedition. Some said the legate did it just to get the unlikeable Piso out of his hair. Whatever the reason, the appointment seemed to defy all logic. Perhaps the legate was confident the centurions would hold the cohorts together, in spite of any foolish decisions made by the young tribune. Nevertheless, Tribune Piso was in sole command of the expedition, and the superior officer in the field, a fact that allowed his incompetence to run completely unchecked. In the ten days since the expedition left the main body, he had quickly gained a reputation. Shunning the advice of the centurions, jeering at things he should take seriously, and meting out punishment to soldiers for the minutest of infractions, Piso’s youth and inexperience was being overshadowed by his arrogance and heavy-handedness.
Again the two officers burst out in a fit of laughter.
“Always laughing, those boys,” Jovinus said. “But at what, I’ve never been able to tell.”
Lucius shrugged, but said nothing. He glanced again at the two nobles who were wiping their tearing eyes. They would not laugh like that if the legate or Caesar were around. They were children that needed to be supervised. Oddly enough, they resembled what Lucius might have become, had his own young life not taken such an unfortunate turn. He could not figure out what bothered him more – the thought that he might have been like them, or the thought that he would never be like them. Regardless, he had despised the arrogant youths from the moment they joined the Seventh.
The two nobles did not like Lucius either, something Lucius had been shocked to discover only yesterday. It shocked him because, up until yesterday, he had no reason to believe that the tribune or his adjutant knew him from any other man in the Seventh Legion. Why in Jupiter’s name would they know anything about Legionary Lucius Domitius? As a common soldier, he had never interacted with either of them in any way, nor would he ever expect to. But yesterday’s events made it very clear that Piso knew him by name.
They also made it very clear that Piso wanted him dead.
During the raid, the 9th century had been assigned to cover the approaches to the village in the event the Belgae had reinforcements nearby. As expected, none came, and the village was easily overwhelmed. Unlike the other men of the 9th, who were frustrated at not getting their share of the plunder, Lucius never minded when the century was held in reserve. While it was true that he did not relish the slaughter women and children as many of the others did, and the reserve seldom got involved in that, there were other, more profitable, advantages to being in the reserve. With this in mind, Lucius had quietly drifted away from his comrades and had found a good spot from which to watch and wait. He knew that the inhabitants of small villages tended to keep their valuables stashed a safe distance away in the event of just such an attack. Often villagers escaping the initial slaughter would make an effort to retrieve their treasures before fleeing. The citizens of this oppidum were no exception. Before long, Lucius saw one such panicked Belgae dart through the trees and make for a large rotted log where he immediately began violently clawing at the earth. Lucius had only to show himself to send the frightened villager scampering off into the woods. After digging a little deeper in the same spot, Lucius came up with a small bag containing forty-two denarii, twenty-three drachmas, and sixty-seven gold pieces of various make. It was a nice stash, and one that Lucius quickly distributed among the various hiding places within his kit. He had just hidden the final coin, when Vitalis came upon him.
“Tribune Piso wishes you to report to him at the village square, Lucius,” the centurion said, not bothering to ask why Lucius was so far away from the rest of the century.